


I'll Be Here When You Return

by mssjynx



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF, dream team smp
Genre: 5+1 Things, Adventure, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Minecraft, Alternate Universe - Video Game World, Eventual Romance, First Kiss, First Meetings, Fluff, M/M, Minecraft, Minecraft IRL, Minecraft Village
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:01:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26579509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mssjynx/pseuds/mssjynx
Summary: George is just a simple baker, spending his days looking after his cattle and baking bread for his the people of his little village. Life isn't exactly interesting but he loves it all the same, and it only gets better when he wakes up one night to a wounded stranger passed out on his doorstep.-Five times that George took care of Dream, plus the one time that Dream took care of George!
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound
Comments: 108
Kudos: 520





	1. Not Your Conventional Meet-Cute

**Author's Note:**

> helloo  
> this is my first dreamnotfound story! it's a 5 + 1, short and simple- I hope you all enjoy and make sure you let me know what you think! <3
> 
> thanks for your time!  
> jynx- x

The first time George met Dream, he was woken from his sleep by a loud thunk against his front door in the early hours of the morning. At first, he assumed it was a zombie but when he laid in the dark of the night and listened, he heard no growling or groaning. 

Concern filled his chest at the thought that maybe one of his neighbours had been chased from their home and had come to him for shelter. Making a lot of noise at night only drew attention from creatures that were far from friendly.

He flinched at the cold when he dragged back his blankets, stubbing his toe when he tried to shove his feet into his slippers. Not wanting to draw attention to his little home and whomever might be hiding in his doorstep, he shuffled past his unlit torches and headed right to his front door. His little home felt unfamiliar when shrouded with darkness and he had to shake off the shiver crawling down his spine as he glanced around the dark room. 

Unsurprisingly, it was even darker outside; no moon in sight. The stars didn’t hold enough light for George to be able to make much out, but the lack of movement eased him as he peeked out his front window. 

From where his window sat, he wasn’t able to see around to the space in front of his door. He knew he’d have to open his door, even if he didn’t have to, just to check that there wasn’t anyone in need of help. And despite the fear that tightened in his shoulders, he sucked in a deep breath and reached for the handle.

He pushed the door handle down and as soon as it was unlocked from it’s frame, unexpected weight against the other side of the door. George scrambled in panic, both hands and his shoulder slamming into the door to push it shut again before he even got a chance to check what was trying to push its way inside. But when the door clicked back into its frame - and George took a few moments to catch his breath and reign in his panic - there was no sound at all. Nothing scratching, pounding or shuffling outside. No groaning, hissing or creaking of bones. Whatever it was that was pushing against his door stayed quiet and unmoving. And dread made George hesitate. 

It was unlikely that the village golem would leave any carcasses against his door- the protective giant usually did a good job of removing the bodies of the monsters it killed (though no one really knew where they ended up). So that only left a few possibilities of what could be leaned against his door. 

Hoping that he wasn’t about to find one of his cattle dead against his door, or worse; one of his neighbours, he planted his foot a few inches behind the door and tugged it open again. His slipper caught the flimsy wood, leaving it open wide enough for the baker to peek outside. 

He did not find a dead cow, or a dead villager. 

What he did find was a stranger slumped against his door, covered in wounds and injuries and wearing broken armour. For a heart-stopping moment, he thought the man was dead. One glimpse of his face showed pale skin and sunken eyes, an unmoving mouth with blue lips. But when he moved his foot, the door fell open under the weight and the man dropped onto his back, helmet clunking on his floorboards. 

An almost inaudible groan slipped from his mouth as his head fell to the side, and George caught the steady rise and fall of his chest. 

He had to bite back a sound of confusion, wanting to shout and shake this stranger awake; demand who he was and how he ended up on George’s doorstep. But with an armor-clad unconscious man laying in his doorway, he did not want to draw any zombies his way. He wouldn’t know how to protect himself, let alone keep this man safe too. 

With a deep breath, he peeked outside, scanning what he could see of the village. A few creepers were pacing in the distant fields and he could hear the groan of a zombie somewhere nearby. But the familiar and comforting sound of iron grinding on iron eased his racing heart. 

The golem was close and it would protect him. He had to focus on getting this guy inside and finding out just how badly injured he was. 

With far too much confidence in himself, he hooked his hands under the shoulders of the iron chestplate and braced himself. He heaved back, straining his arms and back for a long moment, but the man didn’t move an inch. A whimper left his mouth and he released the iron with sore fingers. He took a few moments to stare blankly down at the stranger, gasping for air that he’d lost in his effort. 

There was no way he was going to be able to move him with all the iron holding him down and he wondered for a moment how strong the guy had to be to be able to fight in such gear. George wouldn’t make it ten paces. 

He heard the crunch of bones in the distance and flinched

He needed to get a move on. 

With haste, he got to work pulling the armor off his shoulders and legs. He left the broken plates of iron on his floor and, without the extra weight, George was able to drag the man far enough inside to shut the door. 

He worked quickly and efficiently, fetching a bed sheet to loop under his arms and over his chest so he could drag him to his couch by the fireplace. It took a lot of work to get him up onto the couch and George was almost embarrassed by how much he was sweating and panting afterwards. 

It took the baker only a few minutes to have the fireplace and a few torches lit, already feeling heat spread throughout the room. He fetched scissors, slicing through the stranger’s shredded shirt with ease to reveal bruised and battered skin. A few gashes showed ugly infections that had been festering for some time, but other than that; there were no serious injuries that George could find. 

George’s mother had been the village doctor before she had passed many years ago, and there had been plenty of times that soldiers or hunters had passed through the village in search of medical attention. He had always helped by his mother’s side, treating injuries and brewing medical potions with his childhood best friend. 

When his mother had passed, he was the only one with any sort of medical training in the village and was the one who his people came to in search of aid for illness and injury. A part of him always regretted not pursuing medical work when he became old enough to work, but his heart had followed his father’s line of working as a baker. He provided food for the people of his village and for any who stopped by in need. 

It was times like this that he was grateful for his experience in first aid. 

Taking care of the stranger took him only about half an hour. The wounds were plenty but didn’t require too much attention. After a gentle application of some healing potion, he could already see the skin starting to heal. George took great care in lifting the man’s head up, dripping a small amount of water into his mouth before fetching a thick blanket and draping it over him. He felt like his mother as he tucked the blanket around the soldier’s body, shoving a pillow beneath his heavy head before taking a step back. 

The man’s cheeks had darkened just slightly with colour and there was a sense of restfulness in his sleeping face. 

The baker snuffed the torches and poked at his fire, popping a few extra logs on to keep it burning through the night. But after that, there was nothing else he could do but go back to bed and hope the sleeping stranger would wake with the sunrise.

George’s bed was cold when he slipped beneath the covers but he fell asleep faster than ever, dreaming of a strange hunter protecting him from skeletons and zombies. 

-

George woke later than he usually did, catching the end of the sunrise as he dragged his sleepy self out of bed. Being a baker and a farmer, he worked from early in the morning. He had countless animals to look after and a lot of preparation for a day full of baking. 

Red coals crackled in the fireplace but a chill had returned to the room since George had left it hours before. He pushed some new logs into the coals before taking a careful look at the sleeping man on his couch. The stranger’s mouth was slack, emitting soft snores with every deep breath, and George could see there was a darkness in his cheeks and lips that hadn’t been there the previous night. The sunrise sprinkled light into the room and with one last look at the sleeping man, he got to work preparing his kitchen. He lit the smokers and pulled the dough from his fridge. 

By the time his kitchen was clean and his bread was baking, his snoring company had flipped over onto his stomach. He didn’t show any signs of rousing and George knew he didn’t have the time to wait for him. He got himself dressed for the day, scribbled a messy note on a piece of paper and placed it alongside a plate of bread and fruit on the table. 

Then he left his home and headed for his paddock, his little wheelbarrow stacked with milk pails.

About an hour into his work, humming softly to himself and chatting away to his cow as he milked her, he was disrupted by a quiet cough behind him. He turned to the sound and blinked in surprise to find the man who had slept on his couch standing awkwardly in his paddock, very much awake and very much without a shirt. His hands were shoved awkwardly in his pants pockets and George wanted to smack himself for not leaving the poor guy a shirt. 

“Oh, hi!” he started, clumsily hopping to his feet. In the process he managed to kick his stool over, spooking Betty with the sound. She huffed in displeasure and stomped her hoof. “Sorry Bet,” he hushed, placing a reassuring hand against her cheek. She snorted and turned her head away and he made a mental note to make it up to her with fresh hay later. For now he had to have an odd conversation with this shirtless stranger. “How are you feeling? I think I tended to all your injuries but if I, uh, missed anything, I’m sorry- I can- I’ve got- Did you eat the food I left you? And I’m sorry about your armor, I was going to take it to the blacksmith after I finished the morning chores and get him to- to fix up what he could and maybe replace what he couldn’t? I would have done it sooner but he always sleeps in and- and-”

George waved his hands around as he spoke, feeling his cheeks grow hotter and hotter as he scrambled for explanations. He couldn’t seem to make himself stop talking as hard as he tried, but honestly; it wasn’t like he was used to having strange men show up injured and unconscious on his doorstep every other night! 

Plus, he had to make a conscious effort to keep his eyes on the man’s face. The last thing he wanted to do was make the poor guy even more uncomfortable by checking him out. 

In the light of the morning sun, George was confronted with how attractive the man was. With messy light hair and striking eyes that George couldn’t determine the colour of, George was floored like the hopeless, awkward village boy he was. And not to mention the toned chest and broad shoulders- George swallowed and forced his gaze to the village where he spotted a few of the children playing by the well. No one could blame him; he wasn’t used to attractive strangers!

“Forget about my armor,” were the first words he spoke and George’s attention snapped back to him immediately. “You’ve done so much for me already, you don’t need to worry about that- I have some more back at my camp. I’m sorry I showed up here. I was out of food and there was a hoard between me and where I was camped out. I saw the light of the village and headed for it and, well, I didn’t realise just how beat I was but I must have just passed out.” His voice was rough from the long sleep and George listened as he untied Betty from the post and allowed her to rejoin her sisters at a fresh patch of grass. He found that if he had something to do, he could pretend this wasn’t the weirdest conversation he’d ever had with someone. “Thank you for looking after me, you didn’t need to do so much for me but I really appreciate it.” 

The baker looked at his own dirty boots. “Well, I wasn’t going to leave you on my doorstep to get eaten,” he said bluntly and the hoarse laugh that the hunter released made him jump in surprise. A broad grin flashed pearly white teeth and George wished for a moment that he was able to see the real colour of this man’s gleaming eyes. “Come with me. I’ll get you a shirt and pack you some food.” 

He made to walk past the guy but paused when the other cocked his head, eyeing him as if trying to figure something out. “You don’t even know my name,” he said and George only registered the fact after it was pointed out. There hadn’t exactly been a convenient time for introductions last night. 

“Well, tell me your name then and I’ll pack you some food,” he said simply. “I’m George.” 

“You can call me Dream.” He didn’t hesitate to take George’s outstretched hand, shaking it firmly as it became George’s turn to squint in confusion. 

“Dream?” he questioned. “Which one of your parents decided that was a good name for a kid?” And as the words popped out, he felt a pinch of regret at the rude tone of his tongue. He wasn’t exactly the soft-spoken type and sometimes forgot his bluntness wasn’t always taken to nicely. 

But once again, this guy only lit up with laughter, shaking his head and falling into step beside George on the way to the paddock gate. “It’s not my birthname, stupid. Who would name their kid ‘Dream’? It’s a nickname that a friend gave me when we were younger and it stuck.” The explanation was simple enough and George didn’t bother to question him further, unhooking the gate to allow Dream out. 

It was a short walk back to the house, George passing one of his neighbours with a smile and a nod. He knew if he started chatting, he’d never get away and he was sure that Dream was eager to get back to his own belongings. 

“Well, Dream, how far from your village are you?” he asked and glanced back to spot Dream’s shrug. 

There was something distant in his expression and George felt his curiosity piquing with each mystery he discovered about this strange person. “Haven’t been to my home village in months. I don’t like to stay in one place for too long.” And the vague explanation was enough for George. He was sure Dream didn’t want some random village guy digging into his personal business. 

So instead, as he raided his cabinets for some meat, fruit and bread, he asked: “What are you doing in this area?” 

He pushed the pack of food into Dream’s hands, making sure he had more than enough for at least the next couple of weeks. He then headed for his bedroom, happy when Dream followed as he spoke. “My sister mailed to me recently about an item she’s looking for. It’s called a ‘Blaze Rod’ and it’s not easy to get your hands on. She needs it for her research.” 

“A blaze rod,” George repeated in thought. “I have no idea what that is.” 

He dug through his closet. “Is there any other clothes you need?” he asked, pulling out a shirt that had always been too big for him. He pulled out another one after a thought, and then two spare pairs of pants that used to be his dad’s. Dream started to rebut, but George didn’t let him. “Take them. They don’t fit me and you’re far more likely to need them than me.” 

Dream spluttered in refusal. “I can’t take all this- The food is more than enough!” 

But George didn’t give him the chance to deny it, squeezing past the adventurer and heading back to the kitchen. He filled a leather pouch with water, plugging it and tucking it into Dream’s rucksack before turning to the man. 

“I think that’ll be enough for a couple weeks at least, and if you’re still in the area you can always come back for more food or a bed whenever you might want a proper rest,” he explained as he tied the pack closed. Dream opened and closed his mouth, seeming unable to put his words in the right order as George smiled at him. “I won’t make you sleep on the couch again.” 

After a moment or two, Dream managed a quiet: “You’ve done far too much for me.” But the smile that curved his mouth made George’s heart feel warm and he could tell that the other was grateful for the help. 

“You’re good for finding this thing for your sister. It sounds important and it doesn’t sound easy- If I can help, why wouldn’t I?” He shrugged one shoulder because it was as simple as that. So when Dream dug through his bag and produced a little silver ring, George couldn’t help his surprise. 

“Take this then. As a thank you,” he said. “It’s gold and it’s charmed with protection. I found it in a temple and you deserve it for all the help you’ve given me.” 

With a modest smile, George took the ring and slipped it onto his thumb. “Thank you,” he said. “And don’t go passing out on anymore doorsteps.” He opened the door, smiling as Dream slung his backpack over his shoulders grabbed his sword from where it was leant against the wall. 

“I’ll do my best,” he said, his lopsided grin bringing a smile to George’s face too. 

And with that, the adventurer turned and started off towards the forest that bordered the plains. George watched him only for a few minutes, and though he wished to watch him longer - perhaps until he ended up out of sight - he had a lot of work to get done for the day. 

So he fetched the full milk pails and got to work labelling and storing it. 


	2. Knock Knock, I Could Use Some Help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick meets Dream, George gets to play medic again and there's a lot of hand holding. But it's not weird because Dream's in pain and George is just being a good friend and comforting him, okay?
> 
> TW: relatively graphic description of injury.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm splitting this second part into two chapters because it ended up being really long!! Plus its gonna take me another like week to edit the other half and i really wanted to post for all the sweet comments and kind words <3 
> 
> thank you guys for the support!! im gonna try get the next bit up soon :)

**2\. [part one]**

George hadn’t really expected to see Dream again. 

Yes, he’d offered his home as a place of safety should the adventurer need it, but Dream had a huge mission before him. And he was sure to have other places he could and would prefer to go to for rest and recuperation. 

George had accepted that the chances of their paths crossing again were close to nothing. 

Yet he found his mind from wandering back to Dream again and again throughout the following weeks. It didn’t matter the time of day, who he was with or what he was doing; something would remind him of that very strange night and he’d lose himself in thoughts of where Dream was, what he was doing, who he was with, if he was safe. 

George didn’t want to admit just how often he got lost in his head when he was supposed to be working. He’d burned countless loaves of bread, used salt in his cookie batter instead of sugar and taken so long untying Betty from her milking post that she had stomped on his foot and left him with bruised toes. He couldn’t remember when her attitude had gotten so bad; there were times he felt like he was dealing with a hormonal teenager instead of a farm animal. 

It was hard to stop himself from hoping that Dream would come back. 

It was a month before Dream’s presence in George’s mind started to become less and less frequent, and two months before life returned to the boring, repetitive motion it had always been and Dream became just a peculiar memory.

Winter was just around the corner and George had a lot of preparation that he needed to do for the harsh season. Two of his cows had had calves and the third was heavily pregnant; he was spending hours every day milking them and the two newborn cows were good at nothing but causing chaos. George was getting very sick of tracking them around the village each time they found a weak spot in the pasture fence. 

Every night, George fell into bed absolutely knackered. 

Winter laid itself upon the village all at once and George couldn’t deny the spark of joy in his heart when he woke to a world sprinkled in snow. His crops were done for the year which meant one less responsibility, and the first two calves had grown unbelievably quickly. The third had been born just before the snow had started to fall and she was the only one that needed George’s attention throughout the day. 

Other than that, he finally had time to himself again, which he definitely felt like he deserved. It was a surprisingly sunny morning when George finished his baking early and invited Nick over for a cup of tea and some scones. They’d been chatting aimlessly for about half an hour, bickering about whether lavender tea was better than chamomile, when there was a knock on George's front door. 

Nick’s argument died in his throat as the two men shared a curious look. 

No one bothered to knock in their little village. Doors only got locked at night and George was more than used to people just letting themselves into his home; as he would do the same.

The baker raised his brow at Nick but the other man, with a mouthful of scone, offered a useless shrug. A more urgent thump was heard on the wooden door and George pushed off the couch. 

Something felt wrong, and a very small, very quiet part of him grasped a thread of hope that he tried to ignore. 

He opened the door and the thread snapped. 

Because it was him. 

“Dream?” He didn’t even feel his mouth move as an amalgamation of glee, concern and confusion exploded in his head. He was too busy trying to determine if this was real or a cruel dream to register the breathless way he whispered Dream’s name. 

But it only took George a moment to realise that Dream was not in a good way. He was slumped against the doorway, his face as white as paper and lips drained of colour. 

When Dream spoke -- a weak: “Hey George,” forced out between clenched teeth -- George’s heart dropped into his stomach. “I could, uh- I could use some help.” 

Dream couldn’t choke down the whimper, nor could he hide the violent flinch of his body when he turned slightly to the side. And George felt his own face drain of pigment. A broken arrow was embedded deep in Dream’s lower back and his shirt was soaked with what George could only assume was blood; the very same shirt that George had given him two months prior. 

“Holy End-” Nick’s shock was loud and abrupt, snapping George out of his horrified thoughts just in time as Dream’s knees buckled and the adventurer began to fall. George stumbled to catch him, barely able to stop them both from crashing to the floorboards.

“Help, Nick,” he gasped, legs ready to give out beneath him and Dream’s weight. Nick snatched up the man’s arm, taking the pressure off George and making it possible for the two of them to half-lead, half-drag the injured man to the couch. “On his front, on his-” George’s words were strained as he and Nick eased Dream onto the couch, face tucked against the arm and the arrow sticking straight up. 

As soon as he knew Dream wasn’t going to fall, Nick leapt away from him as if his skin was burning hot. “Oh Gods,” he whispered. Nick did not do well with blood and from the sickly pale hue of his cheeks, George knew his friend was seconds from throwing up the scones he’d so gracefully scoffed only minutes earlier. 

“Nick. Go get me healing potions, food and water,” George commanded, snatching Nick’s gaze away from Dream’s slumped form and to his own eyes. He needed his friend out of the way and not at risk of making this messy situation even more messy. “Now,” George snapped. Nick jerked his chin down in an unsteady nod before scrambling towards the door.

The moment he was gone, George turned to Dream, dropping to his knees by the side of the couch and grabbing the adventurer’s hand. “What- When did this happen!?” Dream’s fingers felt like ice and George squeezed them tight enough to hurt, drawing those dazed eyes to his face. “Dream, hey- You can’t go to sleep now. Eyes on me.” 

Dream grunted but forced himself to blink up at George. His brows were furrowed and his lips were twisted in a strained frown. But he kept his eyes open and George couldn’t vocalise his relief. 

“Good, eyes on me,” George reassured, sliding his fingers through Dream’s hair and squeezing his hand to make sure that Dream stayed focused. “What happened?” he asked, taking a few deep, steady breaths to get a firmer grip on himself. He could not lose his head to stress in this moment. He had to stay composed for Dream’s sake. 

“Uhh, it was- it was maybe... two days ago?” Dream forced out and the rasp of his voice struck a painful chord in George’s chest. Each word was forced out between gasping breaths as the baker cut the bloody shirt open and got a better look at the wound. “I, uh... I got a bit cocky...” 

George had to take an extra moment to regather himself and not freak the hell out over the fact that Dream had been walking around with an arrow in his back for two damn days. The injury wasn’t pretty and the time that had passed was only going to make the removal of the arrow harder. 

“You’re such a freaking idiot,” George hissed, because he was freaking out and he didn’t know what else to say. A weak laugh tumbled out of Dream’s throat and George reached for his hand again. He wasn’t sure if the gesture was to reassure Dream, or to reassure himself. Nick needed to hurry up with the potions.

“Sorry for coming back,” Dream wheezed, attempting to move his arm from where it was caught between them. He froze after only the slightest movement, a cry of pain dripping from his tongue as he pressed his forehead into the couch arm. “Fuck,” he cursed and George smoothed his hand over Dream’s shoulder. He tried to ignore the shaking of his fingers. 

The baker shook his head in exasperation. “Don’t say sorry for coming back,” he scolded, sliding his hand around to Dream’s chest. With bared teeth, he pushed Dream’s torso up enough to take the weight off his arm so he could pull it out from under himself. “At least you turned up awake this time,” he said as Dream gasped and panted. His words felt empty and he searched his brain desperately for anything to distract Dream with. Once again, he carded his fingers through the dirty hair; unsure if it was caked in mud or blood or both. He didn’t think he wanted to know. 

“Well, if I’m hon- honest... I don’t know how much- how much longer I can keep my, um- my eyes open,” Dream admitted and George could hear the exhaustion heavy in his voice. Cold fingers intertwined with his, smeared with blood and shaking and George tried desperately not to let panic grip him when Dream’s eyes flickered with a lack of focus. His brow furrowed with concentration as he blinked back to George, taking a second to push a weak smile onto his face. There was pain in those eyes- but no fear, and no panic. Trust. “Don’t freak out,” he said, squeezing George’s fingers. Barely strangers, yet Dream could read him so easily. “You’ll be able to fix me up- I... I trust you.” With the last of his energy tied to those words, Dream dropped into unconsciousness and George was alone. 

George’s grip on Dream’s hand was white-knuckled and he couldn’t stop his breath from quickening. Dream trusted him? Why? There was no reason for Dream to trust him- Hell, George didn’t trust himself!

But trust or no trust, there wasn’t time for George to have a panic attack while Dream bled out on his couch. He had to get his head sorted. “Okay,” he spoke aloud, breaking up the rapidfire thoughts that zipped around his head and sucking in a breath through his teeth. “I can... I can do this. Okay.” He forced in a deep breath, holding it for a moment before letting it out and feeling some of the tension in his shoulders drain out with it. 

He let go of Dream’s hand (with difficulty), fetching a cloth and a bowl of warm water. When he dropped back to Dream’s side, he didn’t waste any more time. It took him a few moments to wipe away the grime, revealing an ugly wound swelling up around the intrusion. Fresh blood was already dripping down to pool in the divot of Dream’s back and just as George wished it, Nick burst through the door with his arms full of medical supplies and potions.

His cheeks were dark and his chest was heaving, having run halfway across the village to gather the things he needed; but the second his eyes fell upon the arrow, his face went paper white and George grimaced. 

“Do not puke,” George warned and Nick had to force his eyes to the floorboards. He shuffled across the room and dumped the stuff on the floor, taking deep, even breaths to keep himself calm. 

Glass bottles clinked together as George sorted through them and he felt his stomach twist with dread. There was only one pain-relief potion and it wasn’t going to be strong enough. 

He uncorked it with his teeth, soaking a rag with the entire contents before messily swabbing the skin of the wound. It felt like he was trying to put out a house-fire with a cup of water; the potion was for paper cuts and bee stings, not battle wounds. He could only hope Dream was out cold enough and that he wouldn’t wake up. 

“How are... How are you going to get it out?” Nick’s words quivered in the air and George glanced up at where he hovered behind him, eyes wide, horrified and glued to Dream’s back. He didn’t seem able to look away despite his weak stomach.

George grit his teeth. “I have to pull it out.” There wasn’t another choice and he sounded just as hopeless as he felt. 

“Oh _Gods_ ,” Nick whispered and George didn’t let himself think about it. He wrapped his fingers around the wooden stick, bracing his other hand against Dream’s back. 

“Please Gods,” he echoed, despite not being one for prayer. Now was as good a time to start, and he _really_ hoped someone was listening. 

Then he pulled. 

Dream woke at the very first tug, a shout ripping from his throat as he dug his fingers into the couch. Curses spilled off his tongue as he twisted and writhed, but George couldn’t stop. He had to get it done and get it done fast because the longer he took, the worse it would be. 

He bared his teeth, shoving Dream’s chest into the couch cushions and dragging the arrow out all in one go. He felt it catch on threads of muscle and layers of skin and his skin crawled at the sobbing cries that flowed from Dream’s mouth. He wrenched the projectile free and threw it to the ground, numbly aware of Nick stumbling to the kitchen sink and retching. 

With the intrusion gone, Dream collapsed completely boneless. His chest heaved and with every beat of his heart, blood surged from the gaping wound. The muscles in his back twitched under George’s hand and he snatched up a thick bandage with shaking hands. 

“Nick, get me a-” He didn’t get the chance to finish, a clotting potion shoved into his chest as Nick fell to his knees beside them. He didn’t bother with any measuring, wiping the blood away with the cloth before splashing the blue liquid directly into the wound. He uncorked a healing potion, spitting out of the cork and spilling half of it on the floor in his rush, before he smacked the bandage in place and pinned it there. He pushed up on his knees, placing both hands atop the bandage and leaning his weight into it. Pressure was necessary for the clotting, and George doubted Dream would feel anything after that experience. 

It was a surprise that Dream was still even conscious, Nick slapping his cheek lightly and pushing a water pouch into his hands. Adrenaline still pulsed through George and he couldn’t hear Nick’s words over the pounding heartbeat in his head. He felt the bandage grow warm beneath his hands, a sign that the potions were working, and let himself fall back onto his haunches, slumping forward against the couch and sucking in deep lungfuls of air. 

It was done. 

Beside him, Nick gathered pieces of fresh fruit and meat and kept Dream’s attention on him. He let George take a moment to recover from the world spinning around him. Dream was going to be okay, he reminded himself. He had done everything he could, the potions were working, he was going to be _okay_. 

When he found his way back to the present moment, his forehead was pressed against Dream’s sweaty shoulder blade and his fingers that had been shaking were interlocked with Dream’s again. Something about the connection washed the tension right out of George’s spine. Both he and Dream were breathing as if they’d been running for their lives, but as the adrenaline dissolved out of his system, George was overcome with fatigue. 

It took a lot of strength to raise his head and look down at Dream. His skin was pale and his eyes were sunken from days without sleep. He was alive. He was breathing. He would heal. 

“I’m... I’m never going out without armor... again.” It was a stupid remark, forced out between ragged breaths, and George couldn’t help himself. The laugh tumbled out of his mouth; a result of perhaps the stress and exhaustion. His bones had been replaced with lead and once he started, he just couldn’t stop. When Dream’s shoulders shook with a wheezing laugh of his own, George let his forehead fall back to the adventurer’s flushed skin as he tried to catch his breath. 

Nick’s confusion was completely understandable when he interrupted their delirious laughter. “Can someone explain what the End just happened!?” George’s laughter tapered off and Dream waited for his breathing to even out before he lifted his head to meet Nick’s exasperation with a lopsided smile. 

“I’m Dream,” he introduced, his tone far too casual (with only a little bit of strain) for having just gone through what he did. The adventurer went to lift his hand, only to stop when he realised that he was dragging George’s with it. He leaned over to glance at their linked hands in surprise and George’s cheeks grew hot. The baker snatched back his hand in embarrassment, but Dream didn’t seem to care as he offered his now free hand to Nick. “Lovely to meet you,” he said, and Nick stared at the pale fingers stained with blood. 

“No offense, but I’m not shaking that,” he said, his unease written on his face. Dream dropped his hand back to the floorboards with a snicker and Nick gulped, returning his eyes to Dream’s face as if looking at him for the first time. “How do you guys... When did...?” 

Dream’s hand fell back to the floor, knuckles knocking lightly on the wood before his fingers reached for George’s knee. He pawed at the baker’s leg before managing to find his arm and George watched numbly as Dream took his hand back into his as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Their fingers slipped back into place between one another and George blamed the instantaneous feeling of comfort on his exhaustion. 

He turned his attention to the impatient man that he’d grown up alongside. There was really no blaming him for his confusion. “Dream showed up half-dead on my doorstep a few months back in the middle of the night,” was the blanket summary he offered and he waved his free hand in dismissal. “I’ll explain later.”. 

He reached that hand out to Dream’s face where his eyes were resting shut, intending to tap him on the cheek but instead finding himself pushing Dream’s hair back out of his face in a gesture that felt far too gentle and intimate. The motion dragged those pretty eyes back open and Dream looked up at him with a sleepy smile that made George feel lightheaded. Was he used to affectionate touch like this? George wasn’t. He wondered what it was about Dream that bought the strange behaviour out of him. 

“How are you feeling?” he asked and Dream let out a short laugh. With a little bit of help, Dream heaved himself up and flopped down onto his back. 

“Splendid,” he panted, grinning up at George when his hair fell back into his face. George clenched his fist to stop himself from pushing it back again because, really, he hardly even knew the guy and he was not a touchy-feely kind of person. 

It was the adrenaline, he was sure. 

“How about you?” Dream asked, charming as ever and George could only laugh at his friend’s stupid smile. Were they friends? George thought they were friends. He hoped Dream thought so too. 

“Can you sit up?” George asked instead of answering the ridiculous question. He tugged on Dream’s arm. “You should eat some more before you get some sleep or you’ll wake up with stomach cramps.” He didn’t even realise Nick had left the room until he turned to fetch a shiny-looking apple. Briefly, George wondered if it was red or green- he never liked green apples. 

He’d figure out where the guy had run off to later. 

Dream sat up with some difficulty and George held the apple in both hands, squeezing and twisting until it popped open into two clean halves. He offered one to Dream who bit into it with a desperate hunger that hadn’t been there a moment ago. 

It was no doubt that his body was catching up to its normal needs now that it wasn’t flooded with pain. 

“Have you slept at all in the last few days?” George asked, taking a bite of the other piece of apple. It was green, he discovered with irritation but he hadn’t realised his own hunger in the craziness of the past hour, and took another bite before even swallowing the first. 

Dream shrugged, most of his attention taken up by the piece of fruit that he finished off in seconds. He made grabby hands for the bread rolls and George passed him one. “Not well,” he admitted, and it showed in the dark rings beneath his eyes. He tore off a piece of bread and popped it into his mouth. “Hard to when you’ve got an arrow in your back.” 

George couldn’t even imagine the pain that Dream had endured over the past days. Walking all that way in this state, spending nights trying to find a position to lie in that didn’t hurt, waking from restless sleep every time he moved and irritated the wound. He shuddered at even the thought and had to stop himself from reaching up and rubbing Dream’s shoulder sympathetically. 

“But honestly, I can barely feel my back now,” he said and the smile he offered George showed both his gratitude and his lethargy. Finally being free of that constant pain would be unimaginable and George was sure his body was ready to sleep for as long as humanly possible. “Thank you for... for looking after me.” A yawn split his words and George flushed at the wording of his sentence. He couldn’t help a fond smile though, as Dream no longer held his shoulders like he was made of stone, and his features were finally relaxed, not scrunched up in agony. 

He looked so at ease. 

George got to his feet, ignoring his aching knees. “C’mon,” he said, sighing. “Can you stand?” He reached for both of Dream’s hands and snickered at the reluctant groan Dream let out. “You’re about two seconds from passing out and you need a good sleep in a real bed. Get up.” 

Dream only lingered for a few more seconds before he heaved in a deep breath and allowed George to drag him upright. George slipped an arm around his waist and pulled Dream’s over his shoulders so that he could help the man to the stairs, and then slowly up them. He helped Dream to his bedroom, easing him down onto the mattress after pulling back the covers. 

George tucked Dream into bed in the same way his mother used to do to him, and Dream was snoring before George had even shut the door.


	3. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick demands an explanation and Dream wakes up. 
> 
> Dream tells George all about the Underworld, and George teaches Dream how to milk a cow. They spend some time together and George can't deny that Dream makes him feel good in ways he's not used to.   
> There's just something about him.   
> Something strange, and a little bit crazy!  
> But something that makes George warm to the core.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hallo, sorry again for the extremely long waits between chapters. im v happy to get this one out finally.   
> a little bit of lore, a little bit of cute getting-to-know-each-other, and a lot of inaccuracies because this is my story and my world and screw minecraft accuracy :]
> 
> IMPORTANT NOTE: this is not the 3rd out of 5 times that George looks after Dream!! I did it kind of funny, but this is really a follow up to the 2nd chapter- thats why I've put it as the second part of chapter 2! instead of chapter 3 :p hope that makes sense!!!
> 
> pls let me know what you think! nothing inspires me more than your comments and feedback- you guys make me so happy and youre the only reason that i actually come back to this ol thing <3

**2\. [ part two ]**

“Wanna explain who in the End he is and what just happened?” 

Nick was standing in the kitchen with his hands on his hips when George returned from helping Dream into bed. His lips were skewed downwards in an offended frown (a very pouty frown) and it was uncanny how he reminded George of his own mother after he had tracked mud through the house as a child. But there was no denying the look of dejection on Nick’s face.

It wasn’t like George had intentionally kept Dream a secret; that night had been world-rattling, yet the days after returned so much to normalcy that George honestly didn’t feel as if his memories were real. And he was sure that he wasn’t going to see the man again, so why bother to tell the story? 

“So, uh… There was this night where I woke up to a guy dying on my doorstep a few months ago…” he said, scratching the back of his neck and, optimistically, noticed that the colour had returned to Nick’s cheeks once more. 

“And you neglected to tell me about this, why?!” Nick demanded, and really George would have been just as frustrated had he been in the same place. But he couldn’t change it now, so he offered a guilty smile before he started to collect up the empty potion bottles. 

He packed all the medical equipment away, Nick throwing a cloth (unkindly) at his face so he could half-heartedly clean the blood from the floor. He gave a sad look to his ruined couch before turning back to Nick’s glare and offering up a weak smile. 

“It never felt important,” he said, and Nick spluttered in a failed attempt to vocalise his exasperation. 

Justifiably, really. George really didn't blame him.

"I seriously don't know how someone hasn't strangled you yet," Nick said, pushing both hands through his hair in his distress. "Someone being  _ me _ ," he added with a glare. 

George offered a toothy grin in return, knowing Nick couldn’t stay mad at him for long. "Look. I've gotta move some new hay into the chook pen. Come with me and I'll tell you the whole story," he promised, both hands held out palms upward in a show of honesty. 

Nick’s curiosity would get the better of his frustration; he’d always been that way.

Proving that point, Nick let out a final huff of irritation and followed him out the front door.

“I can’t believe I call you my best friend.” The grumbled words only made George snicker, waiting for Nick to shut his front door before they both headed for the barn.

He spared one last thought to Dream, praying that he was getting the proper sleep he needed. And maybe, if he was lucky, the adventurer he'd grown fond of would hang around for a bit longer in the morning. 

-

Dream slept through the afternoon, evening and into the night. Each time George popped his head into the bedroom, Dream was splayed out in the same position: on his stomach, snoring softly and drooling on George's pillow. There was one particularly long blonde curl poking him in the eye, and George wondered if it would be inappropriate to offer to cut the adventurer’s hair when he woke up.

On one visit, George watched that annoying curl until Dream huffed in his sleep, swatting at his hair with a heavy hand before falling still again. The blonde lock remained stubborn and George had to force himself out of the room before he walked over and brushed it out of Dream's pretty face himself.

When night fell and Dream still hadn't stirred, George left a glass of water and a few pieces of bread on the bedside counter in case the adventurer woke up hungry in the night. Then he set up a blanket on the couch and fell asleep to the creaking of the iron golem. 

His dreams were full of messy blonde hair and glimpses of black figures with purple eyes, but when he woke in the hour before sunrise, he couldn't remember much from them. 

A few stubborn stars still glinted in the sky when the glow of sunrise began to wash over the snow-sprinkled village. George checked on Dream, stifling a yawn with his hand as he climbed the stairs, only to find the glass of water still full and the bread untouched. Dream was spread out on his back, one leg hanging off the bed with the blanket piled up on his stomach leaving his feet bare. His face was slack and his mouth open, a lock of hair caught in the corner of his lips.

George couldn't help himself; drawing into the room to carefully drag the blanket over Dream's legs and tuck it beneath his feet so they didn't freeze. He could practically hear Nick laughing at him when he brushed the hair out of Dream's mouth, tucking it back behind his ear.

He left the room with hot cheeks.

He then spent a half hour cleaning himself up; taking a shower, brushing his teeth, collecting his dirty laundry and putting it in a bucket to wash up later, before he started on his daily chores. 

It was a few hours past sunrise when Dream emerged. 

Soft footfalls and a sleepy yawn drew George’s eyes up from the dough he was kneading and he couldn’t help his smile upon seeing the adventurer on his feet again. But the initial relief was washed out quickly by fluster as George’s eyes snapped onto Dream’s bare chest, unable to look away when the tall man stretched his arms up over his head.

The little groan Dream let out at the strain of the movement had George’s stomach falling into his feet and he forced his attention back to his bread to avoid imploding right there in his own kitchen. He was going to embarrass himself if he didn’t get a grip; the poor adventurer had been through enough. He didn’t need to put up with George drooling over him too.

“Morning,” Dream greeted, and the rough edge of his voice made it feel like the Universe was just screwing with George for the fun of it. 

“Hello,” he managed, feeling awkward as he tried to offer a smile to the man without ogling at the scarred muscles and rich sunkissed skin of his chest. He was starting to feel faint. “How did you sleep?” He dropped his dough into a bowl, draping a towel over it before turning to the freshly baked loaf from earlier. He carved out a few more slices and lathered them with fresh jam as Dream hopped onto one of the stools on the other side of the bench. 

The adventurer was already reaching for the plate before George had even finished cutting the slices in half (like his mom used to, and he always did for himself) and George couldn’t deny how cute his little grin was as he snatched up a piece and sunk his teeth into it. “Like a baby,” he said, mouth full and groaning in delight. The whole scene felt all too domestic with someone who was barely more than a stranger to him, but George felt strangely comfortable despite it. “Thanks for letting me sleep in your bed,” Dream said, a genuine sincerity in his eyes that George struggled to swallow. Then the man shrugged, running his hands through his overgrown hair and dropping his gaze with an embarrassed smile. “And I’m sorry for showing up like that again- I didn’t exactly have anyone else to go to.” 

It was George’s turn to smile down at his hands, pretending to keep busy as he swept crumbs off his counter. “I’m just happy you’re safe,” George said simply, before adding a gentle, “and that you knew you could come back if you needed to.” He hoped that his words conveyed all the sincerity he was feeling. 

When he looked up again and met Dream’s eyes, he knew that the other understood. “Thanks for getting an arrow out of my back,” was his follow up and George felt bashful, when Dream laughed with the words. 

“Speaking of which,” he said swiftly, wiping down the bench before throwing the cloth into the sink. He turned his attention to Dream and padded around to the other side of the counter. “I’ll just check on the wound if you don’t mind.” 

Dream nodded happily, focused on devouring the rest of his food as George stepped up behind him. With gentle fingers, he peeled the bandage back. 

A mixture of relief and awe mingled in George’s chest as he examined the expanse of skin that was already starting to scar. A lot of bruising lingered and the skin still looked raw, but the progress was unbelievable. There was a lot about healing magic and potions that George didn’t completely understand, and seeing the wound go from what it had been the previous day to what it was that morning was incredible. His fingers twitched and he had to ask. 

“Mind if I…?” he murmured, two fingers barely brushing the man’s shoulder blade as if to finish the question he didn’t really ask. 

“Of course,” Dream said and George didn’t miss the way his shoulders dropped and spine curved just slightly in trust and permission. George let his fingertips trail down the outside of the bruised flesh, feeling the heat of the wound that likely was still causing Dream a lot of pain. 

“Is it tender?” George asked, his voice quiet in the room that felt suffocating despite its size. He was just checking the wound, he told himself; but the timidness of his touch argued otherwise and the heat in his cheeks made the whole moment feel far more intimate than it should have been.

Dream didn’t flinch, not even once. “A little, but not bad,” he said, dropping his head to one side and George tried to focus on the wound not the expanse of smooth skin the stretched from Dream’s shoulder up to his jaw; not the way that the blonde hair curled in against his neck, around the shell of his ear, poking his jaw. 

George drew two steps back, breaking himself out of the moment that really wasn’t a moment. He really needed to get out more if this was how he reacted to strangers. 

“It looks good, especially compared to yesterday,” he said and his normal tone felt too loud for the morning around them. He shook his head in hopes of clearing it, before returning to the other side of the kitchen bench. 

He turned on the kettle and started on two cups of tea. “I can’t thank you and your friend enough,” Dream said and George snorted. 

“Nick didn’t do much more than throw up in my sink,” he snarked, knowing the comment would have riled up Nick had he heard it. Even imagining the squawks of complaint was enough to make George snicker as he poured the tea. Dream made grabby hands at one cup before George had even added the milk and the baker rolled his eyes at the childish and oddly charming behaviour. “How old are you?” George sassed and Dream’s laugh showed his lack of shame as he curled both his hands around the mug. 

He took a sip, grinning broadly as he answered, “Twenty-one,” despite the question being entirely rhetorical. 

George couldn’t stop the, “Oh, wow,” from tumbling from his tongue, eyes raised in surprise that made Dream frown. “You’re a baby,” George remarked and Dream’s frown started to resemble more of a pout. 

“Says the guy who looks like he’s seventeen,” he fired back, not hesitating for a second before insulting the guy who’d nursed him back to health on two separate occasions. For a moment, Dream’s eyes flashed with regret and had George been a more sensitive person, the comment might have actually hurt his feelings. But Dream was fortunate that George had grown up alongside Nick. If anyone was going to have thick skin, it was him. 

“Rude,” was all he said, making sure to flash Dream a grin to assure him that there were no damaged nerves. Ever since he’d hit his teen years he’d been told by everyone he met that he looked younger than he was. That hadn’t changed, even then at twenty-three. “Any progress with finding that thing you were looking for?” he asked eloquently, just as Dream took a long sip of his tea. 

Which turned out to be quite the bad idea when his murky eyes flew wide, an excited sound forcing its way out of his throat and successfully choking him when he tried to swallow too quickly. George couldn’t help his snort of laughter as the adventurer thumped his chest and coughed. “I figured-” George had to restrain from smacking his own face in exasperation when the younger man didn’t even wait until he was breathing again before he started talking. “I figured out where I”- he gasped for air -“need to go!” Finally getting one whole sentence out, he paused to catch his breath, banging his fist to his chest once more before clearing his throat and inhaling deeply. 

George waited patiently, leaning on the bench with his hands curled around his warm mug. He shook his head at Dream’s childish grin, listening as the other continued. 

“I spoke to a cleric that I met in a town way up North and he gave me a bunch of old books full of information about the Underworld!”

And of all the things George was expecting Dream to say, that was not one of them. “The, uh... The Underworld?” he asked, not sure how to go about making sense of those words. “Did you hit your head on something?” George asked, leaning across the table and reaching his hand out to feel the temperature of the adventurer’s forehead. “Are you feeling dizzy or anything? Nauseous? Can you tell me what season it is?” 

Dream swatted his hand away, laughing as if George was the one sounding crazy. “No, I haven’t hit my head, and no, I don’t feel dizzy or nauseous. It’s winter and yes, the Underworld.” He ducked away from George’s hand when the baker tried to grab his face to check if his pupils were the same size, smacking his fingers until George leant back and returned his hands to his mug. He didn’t lose the crease of concern between his brows though, waiting for Dream to explain further. “Look, I didn’t exactly believe it at first either,” he assured and George scoffed. 

“I don’t think a lot of people would,” he muttered and Dream ignored him.

“ _ But _ ,” he continued pointedly, “I did some reading and found this old map, spent like a week trying to find the directions and work out the scaling and all that stuff, then I tracked down the portal.” 

“ _ Portal _ !?” George put his mug down so he didn’t drop it in his alarm, and simply stared at Dream in disbelief. “So you’re crazy,” he decided and Dream let his head fall back with a laugh. 

“I’m not, I swear,” Dream said and George blinked at him blankly. If only his grin wasn’t so damn charming… “I thought this guy was nuts too, but it was my only lead so I thought I’d give it a shot and see where it led me.” 

George took a patient breath, finishing his tea and running his fingers through his hair. “And?” he encouraged. 

“This thing was huge, George,” Dream said, voice dropping to a whisper as if he was sharing a secret that even he couldn’t believe. “I’ve never seen anything like it in my life- It’s made of this stuff called ‘obsidian’; I read all about it. It’s not easy to find and near impossible to create, but I only need a few pieces to finish the portal completely. Then, I’ll be able to get to the Nether.” 

“The Nether?” George was starting to sound like a parrot.

Yet Dream simply shrugged. “The Underworld,” he clarified as if that made it any more believable. “Not many people have been there, and even fewer have returned to pass on what they learned. It’s hard to tell what’s real and what’s been fabricated over years of story-telling.” 

Perhaps it was the way Dream’s voice quickened with his excitement, or the glimmer of fascination in his eyes that dragged George in. Whatever it was, the baker found himself listening with baited breath and a want to understand; to experience the world he told of, the creatures they knew nothing about and the adventure waiting for the tall man across from him. For a few moments, he wondered what it would take to go with him, what he would have to give up and if, what if it would be worth it... 

“What my sister is looking for are ‘blaze rods’,” Dream continued, unaware of the thoughts flicking back and forth through George’s head. George remembered the item from the first time they’d met, taking Dream’s empty mug. “And you can only get them from these creatures called ‘Blazes’. They’re born from fire and they live in these massive structures-  _ fortresses _ \- that are so big you can’t imagine them. No one knows how they’re made, but they’re impossible tall with towers built from the floor of lava oceans all the way to the roof of the Nether.” 

George never realised just how much Dream spoke with his hands until that moment, watching fondly as the other threw his arms out in attempts to explain just how big and extravagant these fortresses were. He found it hard to look away, placing the mugs in his sink and listening intently. There was just something about him, something that George couldn’t understand that made home want to believe that Dream was telling the truth, that he knew what he was talking about. 

“To get blaze rods, you need to kill these Blazes. And it’s said that with powder made from these rods you can do unimaginable things and tap into magic unheard of by this universe.” So much information in so little time, George felt like his mind was simply too limited to imagine all that Dream was telling him. It would probably take him days to absorb it all, and even then he doubted his brain would ever settle with the unbelievable story. 

Dream, for some reason, didn’t seem to notice how George struggled to even start to make sense of it all as he continued on. “So I’ve just been gathering resources and searching for where I can find some obsidian,” he explained, leaning back on the stool and spinning around on it like a restless child. “It’s a big quest and I need to be prepared for everything.” 

He gave George a grin and George just blinked back, not a thought behind his eyes. With so much information in so little time, his mind had simply given up on trying; going blank and leaving him unable to come up with a response. So he just stared at the adventurer, who… stared right back, completely unbothered. 

“Any questions?” Dream asked and George just gawked at him. It seemed that was all it took for his brain to spill over.

“You’re literally  _ leaving _ this world and travelling through a freaking  _ portal _ to the actual Underworld, to fight some fire creature that will give you a magic stick to advance our science!” he spluttered, talking faster than his brain could move. “How can you- How is- You don’t know anything about this world!! When was the last time someone even came back from there- How do you prepare for something like that!? You could freaking die and you’re acting like it’s a walk in the field, not a crazy, reckless, dangerous mission that will probably end up killing you!” His words tripped and tumbled as they fell from his mouth, both hands jumping to his hair as his stress levels skyrocketed with every unanswerable question and terrifying realisation. 

And Dream had the audacity to  _ shrug _ in response, his smile unwavered as he answered with a simple, “Well, won’t know until I go!” And really there was nothing else George could do. When he opened his mouth, not another sound came out and Dream just giggled, entertained by George’s disbelief. “Now,” Dream started, moving on like the previous conversation wasn’t completely world-shattering. “Do you have any jobs that need doing? After all you’ve done for me, the least I can do is hang around for the day and help out with your work.” And the sincerity warmed George’s chest, despite his discombobulated state of mind. 

Honestly, it was hard to believe that Dream was a real person. 

George stood, shaking his head in hopes that he could clear out all the confusion in his brain. He was starting to feel a headache coming on and much preferred to save the stress and his new revelations about the world for another time and place. “I’ve got three cows who need to be milked by noon and it usually takes me about three hours to do it alone,” he said and before he was even finished speaking, Dream was up from his stool and headed for the door. 

“I’ve never milked a cow before!” he announced and his excitement was evident in both his grin and the bounce in his step. George hastened to follow, snatching up the milk buckets before Dream could vanish out the front door without him. 

“I’d, uh, I’d recommend wearing a shirt!” he called, stopping Dream halfway out the door. He glanced down at his bare chest in surprise, seemingly having forgotten his lack of shirt, and George could only stare in disbelief. 

There was absolutely no way that Dream was real, he decided. 

“Right,” Dream said, a flush painting his cheeks pink. “Let’s go fetch a shirt, and  _ then  _ you can teach me how to milk a cow.” And the way Dream spun on his heel and headed for the stairs as if he hadn’t been interrupted at all brought a smile to George’s face. He just shook his head and followed, not sure if he’d ever get used to the strangely fascinating person that Dream was. 

He didn’t think he would ever stop being surprised by him, and truthfully, he didn’t think he wanted to. 

Fully clothed and no less enthusiastic, Dream basically dragged George out of his house into the chilled winter morning. He hopped the fence instead of opening the gate, snickering at George when the baker made a point of letting himself into the paddock the correct way. 

The cows watched with caution as the pair approached, and George had to smack Dream on the arm to calm him down. “You’ll scare them off,” he scolded and Dream only chuckled, slinging an arm over George’s shoulder with the ease of friends who’d known one another for years. George didn’t know what it was about the tall adventurer but there was a natural comfiness that the baker felt around him; a comfiness he hadn’t ever felt with someone still so unfamiliar to him.

But Dream was familiar, in a weirdly unfamiliar way. 

George didn’t let himself read into the feeling, focusing instead on tying Betty to her post and pushing Dream down onto the milking stool.

“Okay, it’s really simple,” he said, leaning over Dream’s shoulder and curling his hand around one of Betty’s front teets. “You want to squeeze the teet from the top down. Close off the top with your thumb and forefinger, and then squeeze your other fingers down and push the milk out.” He explained his exact movements as he did them, giggling at Dream’s gasp when a thick stream of milk shot down into the bucket. It foamed against the metal base and George leaned back, motioning for Dream to try. 

Poor Betty stood for far longer than she usually had to, not so eager to be used in Dream’s learning, but not having much of a choice otherwise. George provided her with an extra big bucket of feed, rubbing her back as Dream slowly got used to the unfamiliar process. 

“Look at that!” he declared, puffing his chest out as he worked Betty’s udder with two hands at once. Stream after stream of milk filled the pail and George felt an odd sense of pride as Dream milked her until she refused to give any more. His technique definitely needed work and there were pulls where he only got a drop or two, but for his first-time milking, he did a really good job. 

“You’re a natural,” George praised and the way Dream looked up at him with bright eyes and a dazzling smile made George’s tummy flutter in delight. 

With Betty milked dry, he untied and let her go with an apologetic pat on the forehead. Her response was to shove her head into his chest and push him back a few steps, mooing directly in his face before turning and plodding to the other end of the paddock. Dream laughed as the farmer spluttered, his arms pinwheeling. He barely caught himself and just for good measure, got flicked in the nose by Betty’s tail as she left. 

Holding his stinging nose, George shot Dream a glare where the other was failing to hide his snickering, before tying the other two cows to the milking posts. 

They saved two hours working together to get the milking done and George couldn’t keep the smile off his face as they lugged the full milk pails back to the house. They then headed to the chickens, and George bullied Dream into feeding them by hand. Surprisingly, the adventurer was quite scared of the harmless birds as he yelped and shrieked anytime one of the hens got close to him.

“You regularly fight off skeletons and zombies, but a- a chicken is too much for you?” George gasped out from where he was bent over clutching his stomach. His chest ached from all the laughing as Dream gracelessly dropped the seeds and bolted out of the pen, shrieking when one of the roosters chased him to the door. 

For the first time in a long time, George found himself on his couch with a cup of tea and nothing to do until the afternoon. The smell of fresh bread filled the room from where he’d put it out to cool and with Dream stuffing biscuits into his face right beside him, he couldn’t be happier. 

When Dream admitted that he had better get back to his work, George couldn’t stop his smile from falling. The adventurer was good company, better than George had imagined, and had made the morning more exciting and fun than any he’d had in weeks. His lifestyle was repetitive, there was no denying that, and even though he loved it, the change had been welcomed and he was going to be sad to see the other go. 

But he understood that the younger man had his mission and he admired his dedication.

He packed up a big satchel full of food and supplies, before dragging Dream down to the blacksmith’s and getting him a fresh set of strong armour. It cost him a week’s worth of baked potatoes and bread but it was worth it to know that Dream would be better protected from creatures of the night. 

“Please stay safe.” The words were heavy on his tongue and George didn’t want to think about the way his heart squeezed in his chest. He couldn’t fight off his frown. “And come back sometime.” It felt risky to demand such a thing, but the thought of seeing him again, of Dream returning to him upon the accomplishment of his quest; he couldn’t stand the idea that Dream might never come back. 

But Dream’s grin was blinding when he took two steps forward and threw his arms around George in an embrace that the baker didn’t expect. “Like I’ll be able to continue my life without ever eating your biscuits again,” Dream scoffed against the side of George’s head. The words braided themselves into his soft hair and George closed his eyes and leaned into the contact, not wanting that moment to end. He was gentle when curling his arms around Dream’s back, praying that the wound would heal quickly in the days to come. 

He wasn’t used to affection like that; his family had never been big on cuddling, but Dream’s arms around him and his chin resting atop George’s head felt right in all sorts of ways that George couldn’t explain. The tension in his muscles evaporated and when Dream stepped back, his warmth lingered around George like a blanket; a promise that Dream’s words were honest. 

And that warmth made it bearable to offer a weak smile as he watched Dream head for the woods. 

George stood in his doorway long after Dream disappeared from his sight, and only turned away when the breeze began to nip at his ankles and his cheeks began to sting from the cold. He could only hope it wasn’t the final time he’d hear that voice or meet those eyes.

He could only hope that Dream would be okay. 


End file.
